The moment he first met Uyên, Vấn was instantly captivated by her. She possessed nearly every quality Vấn sought in a woman. She was beautiful and alluring; her speech was sweet and seductive. She was also well-educated. The only thing Vấn couldn't quite gauge was whether she was savvy at business or adept at making money. Yet, he no longer cared much about that. Uyên’s beauty had left him utterly entranced, and Vấn was determined to possess her—at any cost.

At first, Uyên paid Vấn no mind. She had far too many suitors chasing after her and vying for her attention. She couldn't even keep track of all those who were infatuated with her. There were those who desired only her body—men drawn solely to her sensual figure, gazing at her with eyes filled with lust and carnal craving. Then there were the more high-minded young men who wrote poetry and books to dedicate to her; those who flaunted their academic credentials in hopes of catching her eye; and the businessmen who threw money at her, longing only to hold her in their arms. Uyên dated many of these men, yet she never singled any one of them out for special attention—until she met Huy.

She fell in love with Huy; he was her first love. It was a love devoid of calculation—a love of pure passion and romance. It was a love of dates and weekend getaways; of camping trips in Yosemite with a close-knit group of friends; of nights spent dancing until two in the morning; and of shared dreams of one day walking down the aisle. But Uyên made a grave mistake when she gave her all to Huy—when she surrendered her innocence to him. Her selfless, unconditional love became the catalyst for the first heartbreak of her young life.
 
For once Huy had claimed her body and shared her intimacy, he began to change. She was no longer a mystery to be unraveled; she no longer held the allure of forbidden fruit. And so, Huy grew bored of her and moved on to pursue a new romance—one that offered him a greater thrill and a more elusive challenge. Uyên was consumed by such bitterness and resentment that she felt she could have taken her own life. Her dream of marrying Huy had vanished into thin air, leaving behind an indelible scar of bitterness.
 
For months on end, she had felt utterly disillusioned with life. Her first days working at Bank of America marked the period when Uyên’s emotional crisis reached its absolute peak. Vấn entered her life at just the right moment to offer some measure of solace and help soothe her wounds. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Vấn to catch Uyên’s eye; in every conceivable way, he simply could not compare to Huy. Yet, Vấn offered her at least a glimmer of restored self-confidence—reaffirming that she was still beautiful, still capable of captivating others, and that there were men willing to grovel at her feet for even a shred of her affection. And, after all, Huy wasn't the only man in the world!

Uyên agreed to marry Vấn out of wounded pride—because she simply could not accept the harsh, brutal reality that she had been cast aside. Discarded like a worthless rag. Drained of her essence, like a flower stripped of its pollen. She felt compelled to marry before Huy did—to prove to him that she didn't need him, and to demonstrate that casting her aside had been a monumental mistake.
 
Uyên married Vấn without a shred of love; she took him as a husband solely because she needed a man to fill that role—to provide her with a lavish, extravagant wedding reception at the grandest venue in all of Orange County. Vấn had appeared in Uyên’s life at the precise moment she needed him most. Their connection was brokered by the bank where she worked—a veritable temple of mammon, a sanctuary of commerce devoid of genuine emotion or human warmth. It was a place utterly bereft of the kind of beautiful, pure, and perfect love she had spent her entire life—since the days of her youth—dreaming of finding.

At times, Uyên felt she had made a grave error in agreeing to marry Vấn. She realized that marriage was not—and could never be—the remedy for her feelings of inadequacy, for the trauma of being abandoned by Huy, or for her desperate need to prove to her ex-lover that she could survive without him. She harbored absolutely no love for Vấn, nor could she find a single quality in him that inspired her respect. And sometimes, Uyên found herself wondering why she was still with Vấn!
 
 
Chapter 10
 
Uyên asked Lữ just as class was letting out:

"Do you know anything about cars, Lữ? The car I drove to school just stalled out; I’m not sure if it’ll even start up again when I go back out there."

Lữ asked in return:

"What did you say? Isn't your husband picking you up today? I know a thing or two about cars—let me go take a look for you."

Uyên pointed out where she had parked, then stood by watching as Lữ tinkered with the engine. She gazed at his muscular arms—taut and hard—and suddenly found herself comparing them to Vấn’s. Why hadn't she met Lữ sooner? Uyên leaned over to follow Lữ’s gaze down into the engine bay. She had never known what parts made up a car engine, or even where the battery was located. Uyên thought to herself that men were born into this world to handle such things for women. And other things, too! Uyên asked Lữ:

"How does it look? Can I drive it home?"

"I’m pretty sure the alternator is shot. I think you should just leave the car here for now; call a garage tomorrow to have it towed away for repairs. Let me give you a ride home."

"Would that be too much trouble for you? Nothing would be better than getting a ride home from you!"

Lữ smiled and shook his head. He found this woman—his classmate in the accounting course—to be increasingly charming and alluring. But where was her husband? Lữ was slightly surprised to notice that Uyên made no mention of calling to inform her husband about the car trouble. For the past few days, he had noticed that Uyên was driving herself to school, rather than relying on her husband to drop her off and pick her up as she had done before.

He escorted Uyên out to his car—Miriam’s Mercedes convertible! Uyên exclaimed in admiration:

"What a beautiful car! You must be really wealthy, Lữ!"

"It’s not actually mine! It belongs to a friend; I’m just borrowing it!"
 
Uyên looked at Lữ, narrowing her eyes:

"Which friend of yours lent you such a prized car? A Mercedes convertible—that’s strictly a woman’s ride. You really are a lucky man, aren't you, Lữ?"